The Bending Games
by JackieStarSister
Summary: After the Equalists took over, Amon gave benders a choice: they could have him take away their bending, or be eligible for an annual, public fight to the death. Mako kept his so he could survive. Korra kept hers so she could rebel. *Cover art found on Pinterest.* Constructive criticism wanted!
1. Preface

They must have been different once,

fire and water, miles apart,

robbing and giving in desire,

that assault on one another's otherness.

Embracing, they appropriated and expropriated each other

for so long

that only air was left within their arms,

transparent as if after lightning.

~ Wislawa Szymborska, "Golden Anniversary"

* * *

Author's Note

I chose to begin posting this story on July 4, the United States of America's Independence Day, since it is a story about revolution.

I know that others have written fan fiction stories like this, based on _The Hunger Games_ by Suzanne Collins, using characters from _The Legend of Korra_. I have refrained from reading any such fanfics, so that I can honestly say I haven't taken any inspiration for this story from similar works of fan fiction.

I started this story a few years ago, but I have been putting off posting it because I am uncertain about which characters to feature and what direction to take the plot in the long term. I finally decided that since I already have pretty good content for the first few chapters, it would be better to make it accessible. I only hope my readership will not mind long intervals between chapters in the future. Of course, receiving reviews will let me know that people want the story continued, which in turn will motivate me. Because I don't know exactly how to execute this story or how it will end, I am open to suggestions regarding how to do so.


	2. Mako - The Lottery

_Published July 4, 2016_

Mako: The Lottery

* * *

"Could you tell me of some conqueror giving peace and happiness to the conquered?" ~ Henry Mackenzie, _The Man of Feeling_

* * *

I'm always the first of us to wake up in the morning. Our mom always attributed it to the fact that I'm a firebender, someone whose energy rises and falls with the sun. But in more recent years it's become a habit because I like to let Bolin sleep in.

Actually, today is one of the few days when both of us can afford to sleep late into the morning. Today all workplaces will be closed. I lie in bed for as long as I can, but eventually restlessness and hunger win over. I get up quietly, though I don't really have to worry about waking Bolin; he's still sound asleep.

Breakfast is fairly simple: a couple rolls, plus some cold dumplings leftover from yesterday's dinner. I'm hoping to find ingredients to cook a better meal later in the day. After all, I have time, and it's supposed to be a special occasion. In fact, if you and your loved ones aren't chosen in the lottery, the following dinner feels like a thanksgiving, a celebration of the fact that you're still alive—like a macabre twist on a birthday anniversary.

I hear the whining before I see the fire ferret climb up onto the low table. "Hey Pabu," I say in a low voice, attempting to make nice with him. He's Bolin's pet, really. I can still remember the episode, my argument that it would be an unnecessary mouth to feed, and Bolin's claim that he needed someone to take care of the way I took care of him. In the end, I figured it wouldn't hurt to let him learn some responsibility. Besides, the rodent makes him happy; that more or less earns his keep.

My morning routine provides both exercise and income: I walk through all the neighborhoods that are having their garbage collected. I pilfer anything that looks remotely useful—ripped cloth, battered radios, shoes with holes in them—and sell most of what I find to the underground flea market. We already have some items saved and stashed in our apartment, so Bolin can set up shop while I'm scouting.

Our dad used to do this, and brought home anything he thought we would like: chipped chinaware for our mom, stained clothes and dented toys for us. He only took us with him once or twice, when Mom was sick, or when we had begged him to show us how he worked his magic. It wasn't as exciting as we had expected, just a lot of walking around and carrying stuff, and on our seven- and five-year-old legs the distance seemed much greater than it was for Dad. But I'm glad we did it at all, because it gave us something to grasp onto when he and Mom died.

The streets are more quiet than usual, even for these early hours. Everyone has work off, and a lot of people—though admittedly not the majority—don't want to face today. The only people out and about are street kids and hobos, doing the same thing as me. I know some of them by sight and a few by name; some glare at me, like I don't belong with the trashpickers now that I have shelter and a job. I can't explain to them how tight things still are for Bolin and me, how unreliable pro-bending is as a source of income; so I leave them to the piles they've staked out, and go my own way. When my pockets, bags, and arms are full, I buy some food from a vendor and make my way to the underground marketplace.

The "black flea market," so called because its existence both illegal and secondhand, is set up in an abandoned warehouse. Bolin already has our stuff spread out on a threadbare blanket. But that's not all: he has an ostentatious faux mustache on his face, and has set up some kind of miniature obstacle course in front of our spot. He narrates loudly as Pabu walks across a ruler set on two cups. While I watch, a single person drops a coin in our money jar, probably more out of pity than gratitude for entertainment.

Bolin waves when he sees me. "How's today's haul?" he asks as I sit next to him on the blanket

"Not very special." It's easier to find a large quantity than high quality, but quality is usually more lucrative than quantity. "What's going on here?"

"Pabu's making his circus debut!" he says proudly. I remember him mentioning training Pabu to do tricks, but I didn't think he planned to go through with it after I pretty much shot down the idea.

One vendor has turned on a radio at their table, and keeps changing the stations to find music that will attract customers. This is harder than usual because most of the stations have the same agenda today: politicians and celebrities discussing past Bending Games and anticipating the next one. On this day, there is always at least one station, at any given time, reading the history of the Untied Republic and ending with the proclamation of the annual Bending Games.

They talk about the Games like they're an a deep-rooted tradition, but really they've only been going on for a matter of years, or decades at most; the official version of the history—which may or may not be true—doesn't specify.

Our parents used to tell us what they knew personally about the revolution. They could remember how it started. It was just as fearful as our lives are now, they said, except worse, because it was more chaotic and uncertain. It was obvious that trouble was brewing, but they never knew where, when, or how it would strike.

I don't know what came first, the Equalists or Amon. Maybe he was the one who created that group, or maybe they chose him to be its leader. In any case, he emerged with an unfathomably large following, and a power that he claimed was spirit-given: the power to take away a person's bending. And on the same day that he revealed the existence of his power, he declared his goal to take away the bending of every waterbender, earthbender, firebender, and airbender in the world.

There were months of terror and espionage, kidnappings and sometimes, when benders put up too good a fight, murder. The Equalists targeted groups of benders, starting with criminals and working their way up the social ladder. Some benders fought back, while many emigrated or went into hiding. Even some non-benders went underground, or voiced dissent against the Equalists' radical measures.

Finally a coup took place: the Equalists took all of Republic City's political leaders and police into custody, and then spread outward to establish their power over the rest of the United Republic of Nations. At that point, the other nations tried to step in, realizing the Equalists were a legitimate threat to the rest of the world. But they were always behind; Amon revealed one surprise after another, churning out newly invented weapons and vehicles that the Untied Forces and the national armies were completely unprepared for. It took just a few years for the Equalists to extend their reach across the globe, equalizing any benders they could find, and replacing old bender leaders with puppets that would do as Amon instructed. He remained the leader above all others.

Eventually Amon and his followers realized that it wasn't practical to eliminate all benders. It was impossible to take away the ability from every person in the world who had it; new studies purportedly showed that even former benders could pass on their abilities; and there were useful things that it could be used for. Waterbending and earthbending can be used to speed up travel and build road and canal systems. Earthbending enhances agriculture and landscaping. The production of lightning through firebending is a clean source of energy. Even airbending can be used to power vehicles (though there aren't enough airbenders alive to make this a marketable resource).

Another problem was that Amon's plans started to backfire when non-benders spoke out against his tactics. They even went so far as to say that he was becoming just as tyrannical as the benders he opposed. Their slogan was, "Equality, but mercy." On the other hand, some non-benders weren't satisfied to just have the old leaders stripped of power; they wanted greater retribution for all the suffering they had experienced in all the years bending existed.

A small council of Equalists, including Amon and his Lieutenant, met to come up with a solution to both of these problems. They voted to keep a percentage of the population capable of bending. They devised a draft system to make benders give a quota of work for the benefit of the United Republic.

On top of that, they imposed significant conditions on keeping bending. No one would be allowed teach or formally learn bending techniques, the way masters and students used to do. Any benders who were arrested, for any reason, would immediately be stripped of their power. But the biggest price benders would pay for keeping their power would be eligibility an annual fight to the death called the Bending Games. Every nation contributes two contenders, one male and one female, to participate; the game is over when only one player is still alive.

Whoever wins the games must have their bending taken away, in a ceremony marking the end of that year's games. The idea is that if you were smart and strong enough to survive, you shouldn't need your bending to make you feel good about yourself. And since winning ensures your wealth and safety, it's no longer necessary for survival.

Incidentally, benders can formally appeal to Amon and have him take away their bending. This allows him to claim that the drafts for state work and the Bending Games are voluntary systems, that people who truly do not want to give their labor and be eligible for the Games would asked to be excused. He can say that they chose it.

The Equalists didn't expect to get such an enthusiastic response from wealthy non-benders. Over the years, some entrepreneurs and other elitists planned and developed an entire industry around the Bending Games. At first they took place in an arena where people could pay to watch staged fights on specific days, and the events were only broadcasted via radio. Now, they take place in a huge landscape, and are filmed on hidden cameras and screened in theaters so anyone can watch what happens.

In the media, both benders and non-benders have discussed the reasons for having the games. They don't list entertainment or sadism among them, just the social and political aspects. It's a way for the now dominant non-benders to keep benders in line. It reinforces the fact that the Equalists now control our lives. It's their way of saying, "This is the price you pay, if you want to keep this so-called power." And it's a way to perpetuate hatred and disgust for bending, by making people witness the violence that benders inflict on each other. Honestly, many people who win the games are happy to have their bending taken, because with it, they see themselves as monsters.

I can kind of sympathize with that. I had a taste of that way of thinking, after a firebender killed our parents. It was the first time I saw for myself the destruction and pain—physical for our parents, emotional for Bolin and me—that bending could inflict on people. For a while afterwards, I avoided using my firebending as much as possible.

But I did use it, not as a weapon, but as a tool. We used it to cook whatever food we could find. It kept us warm on nights when we couldn't find shelter, and during times when we couldn't buy adequate clothing.

Even now that we're off the streets, it's come in handy through Pro-Bending. Technically, the sport is illegal, but the city officials have never gone to great lengths to end it in Republic City. In fact, some the sport's biggest fans are non-benders. It gives people's morale a boost to see benders of different elements working as a team, without aiming to kill or seriously hurt each other.

I don't know what our parents would have wanted for us. Maybe they would have gotten us equalized to protect us. Maybe they would have let us decide for ourselves. If I had kids who were benders, I don't know what I'd want more, for them to be safe, or for them to be able to choose.

We spent nights talking about what would be more dangerous, or more advantageous to our survival. Bolin's earthbending gave us shelter; my firebending gave us warmth; both of our skills gave us a chance at protecting ourselves. Our bending kept us from freezing or getting sick or being attacked. But we would still face the risk of being chosen for the Games.

Aside from the practical uses, I know that I, personally, would hate losing my bending. In spite of knowing what fire did to my parents, I like being able to hold it in my hands. It's both a tool and a toy, not because it's fun, but because it's beautiful. Ask anyone who's sat by a campfire, either for survival or recreation. The Sun Warriors practically worshipped fire, because they equated it with life. Like any element, it carries the power to sustain life, and the power to end life.

Someone comes over to us as I sort through my findings with Bolin. "Hey guys!"

I swallow as I turn to face the speaker. "Hi, Asami."

When I first met Asami Sato, I finally understood why words like "striking" or "stunning" are used to describe good-looking people. When someone strikes you, depending on how hard the blow is, they can stun you, even knock the breath out of your lungs. It makes you do a double take, and you have to struggle to focus.

That's what Asami did the first time I saw her, in the bleachers at the underground pro-bending circuit. Even now, it takes a little extra effort to think clearly and breathe evenly around her. Which is really inconvenient, because she is the last person you would want to act stupid in front of. She's really smart—not book-smart or street-smart like me, but good at solving physical problems and working with her hands. She comes to the black flea market to buy tools and gadgets, and to sell her services as a mechanic. I've seen her fix items that looked irreparable, and practically invent things out of scrap metal.

At first, Asami tried to give her services away, but she didn't get many customers; some people even told her off, told her she didn't belong (which is partly true considering she's one of the richest people in Republic City). I had to explain to her that it was a little insulting, in other people's eyes, to offer charity when it wasn't asked for. She was confused and skeptical, but she took my advice and started offering her services in exchange for money or goods. After that, her popularity grew, until she became a weekly regular.

There have been a couple times when people tried to jump Asami or pick her pocket; but before I or anyone else could intervene, she knocked them flat. She's not a bender, but she's got self-defense skills like you wouldn't believe, and she knows how to improvise weapons out of regular objects too.

Asami kneels down to look at our wares and watch Pabu's pitiful show. She doesn't buy anything, but she puts a couple yuans in the money jar. "Thank you; you're a beautiful audience," Bolin says grandly, which elicits an amazing smile from Asami. "Are you coming to the Lottery?" he asks conversationally. Non-benders are encouraged to come, but not required. They can just as well listen to the radio broadcast, or watch the films when they're distributed at venues the next day.

But Asami nods. "Yeah, I'm planning to."

"Why?" The question comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.

She looks at me. "If someone I know gets picked, I'd want to know about it, and say goodbye."

"Do you have a lot of friends eligible?" I can't imagine her Equalist father would be happy about her being friends with benders.

"Not many," she admits, "but a fair few." She pets Pabu and stands up. "I hope destiny will be in your favor," she tells us, using the same language as the Games' official slogan.

I snort a little. "Thanks." It is not until I see her looking oddly at me that I realize she was serious. "I'm sorry, I thought—never mind." I guess Bolin and I would joke about that kind of thing, because it's easier to laugh off than to say it straight.

We eat our lunch and hang around the warehouse for a long time. We take turns staying with our goods so the other can browse the tables and blankets. Finally, late in the afternoon, we go home to get ready for the Lottery. It's the most formal event we attend all year, and the most public. If one of us were chosen, we'd want to look decent, to make a good impression on potential sponsors.

We keep all our clothes in a trunk we found in a dumpster. It doesn't hold much: a couple extra blankets, undershirts, boxers, and our winter coats. Besides that, we pretty much wear the same clothes every day, washing them a couple times a week. We change into our best, which are really just the least worn, more presentable articles of clothing—I think Asami would call it "business casual".

Bolin has a panic attack almost every year. I do what I can to calm him down. I even lend him Dad's scarf, which I wear almost every other day of the year. When we were little, Dad used it as a comfort object when we were scared. We both wore it to our first day of school, and we held it on nights when we thought there were evil spirits hiding under our bed. At one point, I asked Bolin if he wanted to keep it for himself, but he said it suited me better since I'm a firebender. He likes to wear mostly green, like a lot of people from the Earth Kingdom. Most of my clothes are gray, but the scarf feels like a token of my Fire Nation heritage. I'm not sure, but I think Mom may have given it to Dad, since she was from the Fire Nation and he was from the Earth Kingdom; maybe, to them, it showed how they were blending their cultures. I'll never know for sure.

I pat Bolin on the back while he holds his head between his knees. "You feel okay now?"

He lifts his head slowly, presses his hands on either side of it. "Yeah … I guess."

"Good, because we'll be late if we take much longer, and then we'll be in trouble." If benders fail to report to the Lottery, Equalists will come for them while the ceremony is happening; they get fined, and I've heard of police or disgusted neighbors beating them up. If someone absent gets their name drawn, they're shamed as cowards and get almost no support from sponsors, citizens, or media during the Games.

I try to walk fast without rushing Bolin, who tries to keep up with my pace until we reach City Hall. The Equalists have roped off the huge square in front of the building for benders to assemble by element and age group. I've never been to a farm, but I've heard descriptions of them, and I imagine this is what it's like to round up livestock before sorting out which ones to keep for work and which ones to slaughter.

I spot Toza, our friend and pro-bending mentor, standing with other middle-aged adults outside the rope barrier. We exchange grim nods (though his expression doesn't have to change much to show grimness).

We sign in with the officials, who fingerprint us to make sure we are who we say we are. There have been cases where people pretended to be a friend or relative in order to spare them from entering the Games. As punishment, both the imposter and the person whose identity they tried to assume were forced to fight in the Games.

I clap Bolin on the shoulder before joining the firebenders. I can remember our first few Lotteries, how nervous we were, our knees shaking as we stood on the verge of terror. It was hard being by myself the first two years, while Bolin waited on the side to find out whether he would still have a brother; and even when he was old enough, we had to go to our elements' rows, our solidarity diluted by the crowd.

Yet each year the event becomes more routine. Even the fear has become acceptable in our minds, not because it's any duller, but because we're used to its presence. And each year brings us closer to freedom.

It's my last year, I remind myself. After this, I can stop worrying about whether I'll be chosen to die, whether or not I'll keep my bending. I'll be able to think about "the rest of my life", without keeping in mind the possibility that I might die in these Games. And I'll only have two years after this to worry about Bolin's chances of being picked. Even though he has less of a chance than I do, with his name being in there less times, I worry about him about as much I worry about myself.

The top step of City Hall is where the ceremony will take place. Two huge bowls filled with the names of the city's benders are set on columns, with a microphone between them for the announcer. Two of the city's former leaders sit nearby in places of honor. One is Tarrlok, a former waterbender who used to be a councilman and won the very first Bending Games. He offers the crowd his usual smile, which I think is meant to look good-natured but comes off as supercilious. Next to him is Tenzin, who used to be the world's last airbender. I guess he's still the last airbending master, but now he can't airbend or teach others how to do so.

Usually the announcer who draws the Lottery is an important United Republic figure, like Amon's top supporters. But the man who goes up the stairs is in outrageous Water Tribe garb, and assumes the microphone with a startling amount of vivacity, out of place and inappropriate at such a grim event.

"Hello Republic City!" he exclaims, stretching out each syllable of the greeting. "For those of you too behind the times to know who I am, my name is Varrick. Now I know what you're thinking: what's this guy from the Southern Water Tribe doing at the United Republic Lottery? The answer is, our distinguished leader has granted me the privilege of conducting this Lottery, in exchange for a gift from Varrick Industries. And here it is!" He points to the back of the crowd. "Zhu Li, do the thing!"

Suddenly a screen drops down over the front of the City Hall building, and a moving image of Amon is protected onto it.

"My quest for equality began many years ago. When I was a boy, my family and I lived on a small farm. We weren't rich, and none of us were benders. This made us very easy targets for the firebender who extorted my father. One day, my father confronted this man, but when he did, that firebender took my family from me. Then, he took my face."

It's nothing we haven't heard before; the only thing that's new is the cinematography. Part of the reason I hate hearing it so much is that it is, at least in part, Bolin's and my story. Our parents died at the hands of a firebender, for no good reason. But paradoxically, we are both the victims and the perpetrators of the so-called crime of bending.

I pay attention when it ends. Varrick approaches the first bowl, sticks his hand in the papers, and extracts one at random. He returns to the microphone, unfolds the paper and announces dramatically: "The male tribute for the United Republic of Nations is … Bolin, an earthbender!"

For a few seconds, I think this is one of my nightmares. Bolin and I have both dreamed about one of us getting chosen, so many times that we started to think it could never happen in real life.

But this is different. I look at Bolin—everyone is turning to look at him—and he looks surprised, his mouth a small circle. The next second, he looks like he's about to be sick. I hear him gulp, and I can see sweat break out on his forehead.

When I see the people around him back away, I realize this is actually happening. Then I'm able to think, and react.

"I volunteer!" I push people out the way, but then they start stepping aside, letting me into the circle that has formed around Bolin. I look over his horrified face and meet Tarrlok's condescending eyes. "I volunteer as tribute."

It's not a split-second decision. Bolin has been eligible almost as long as I have, and I always thought that if he was chosen, I would take his place. In a way, I made this decision a long time ago, when I promised my parents that I'd take care of him.

People back away from me too, and Bolin is able to meet my eyes across the gap. "Mako!"

"Stay cool," I tell him, as the Equalist sentries move through the crowd.

"No!" Bolin starts to cross the gap, but suddenly Toza comes out of the adults' section and holds him back. I turn away so I don't have to watch them watching me as the Equalists lead me to the stage.

Varrick's voice vibrates through the air. "I don't believe it! Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have a volunteer!"

 _Volunteer._ I'm going by choice, as perverse as that sounds. I'm giving these people my permission to kill me. They've always had that power, I guess, but my own willingness makes it feel even worse.

But it's for Bolin. And I tell myself that's enough reason.

Some part of my brain observes: I have a strong instinct to survive, but an even stronger instinct to protect people I care about.

Somehow I climb up the steps, and now everyone can see me on the stage. Varrick shakes my hand vigorously, turning me outward to face the crowd. "What's your name, son?"

"Mako." I barely recognize my own voice in the microphone. I clear my throat and add, "Firebender."

Varrick looks from me to Bolin, recognizing the resemblance between us. "Am I right in thinking that boy is your brother?"

I meet Bolin's eyes rather than looking at the cameras. "Yes."

Varrick laughs, clapping me on the back. "A bit of sibling rivalry, eh? Don't want him stealing all the glory! Well, congratulations for being the United Republic of Nations' _first_ ever volunteer!" He claps, but the sound is alone. The only other person who claps is his assistant, but it seems to be out of instinct, and she stops when she realizes that no one else is applauding. Instead, everyone is staring at me, their expressions hard in a way that's difficult to describe. Some are awed. Some are angry. Then I realize, this lack of applause, even at Varrick's prompting, is their way of saying, "We don't agree with this."

Then something strange happens. I can't see the first person who does it, but suddenly several people are bowing. It's an old-fashioned gesture, formerly a signal of greeting, farewell or gratitude to someone you respect. Seeing people bow to me, I don't know whether they're saying goodbye because they think I'll fail, or saying they respect what I just did. Maybe it's both. I'd feel awkward making the gesture back to them, so I bow my head instead, which also helps because then I can't see Bolin watching me.

Varrick sounds bemused when he speaks again. "Well … on to the ladies' Lottery!" He crosses over to the bowl with the female benders' names, and makes the same dramatic flair as he picks out a slip of paper.

"Our female tribute is … Korra, a waterbender!"

It takes all of my composure to keep my mouth from gaping, my eyes from widening in disbelief. _Not her! Why her?_

Someone voices my thoughts: "NO!" I look up and see a petite Water Tribe woman pressing against the rope; a huge man holds her back, pulls her into a hug. They must be Korra's parents.

Korra herself becomes visible in the crowd as people back away from her, out of either respect or shock. For a moment she is frozen, just like Bolin was a mere minute ago. Dismay and fear are quite visible on her features.

"Do we have any volunteers who would take her place?" Since I just volunteered, Varrick remembers to go through this formality. But no female bender speaks up. I don't think any of them know Korra well. I don't either, but I know more than most people know about her.

She goes up the steps carefully, as though determined not to trip. Varrick claps her on the back and gestures toward me. We're supposed to shake hands. Korra looks at me, long past recognition, her eyes filled with … I don't know what. She's probably in shock, but there's something else, something that I think is directed at me. I'm glad I'm still wearing my fingerless gloves, so our skin has minimal contact as we shake hands in front of Tarrlok.

If I wasn't scared a few minutes ago, I definitely am now, because I know two things about Korra that no one else knows. She's probably the most powerful, most formidable opponent I'll have to face. And I owe her my life.


	3. Korra - Farewells

_Published January 10, 2017_

Korra: Farewells

* * *

Every woman is a rebel, and usually in wild revolt against herself. ~ Oscar Wilde, _A Woman of No Importance_

* * *

 _This is bad._

That is what my thoughts boil down to, though it's literally the understatement of a lifetime.

Mako and most other tributes—the ones who dread being chosen—are thinking, _This is bad_. For me, it's even worse. Because my death would not just be bad for me or my loved ones. It would bad for the whole world.

It's ironic, because I actually have more physical and spiritual abilities than most benders. The catch is that I won't be able to use them all. I'm registered as a waterbender, so that's the kind of bending I can use. Unless I want to blow my cover—and I'm too terrified of what might happen if I do. Only a handful of people know that I'm the Avatar, the only person who can bend all four elements.

The first people to find out were my parents. They're the ones who have kept me safe and sane ever since they discovered my abilities. They've told me that when I was little, I accidentally sneezed fire, and a little experimentation showed that I could also cause the earth to shake, and water to freeze.

I loved manipulating the elements around me, but my parents, were terrified of what might happen to me. Everyone knew that the Equalists were searching for the reincarnated Avatar, but no one knew what they planned to do with him or her—equalize, imprison, or kill. I had to hide my bending, except perhaps my waterbending, but even that couldn't be flounced (much as I wanted to).

It was imperative for me to learn how to control my bending. I mean, it's important for any bender, because it's dangerous to not be able to keep yourself from breaking open sidewalks or spewing flames. But it was more important for me, to be able to hide the fact that I'm the Avatar.

My dad was lucky enough to come into contact with the White Lotus. (He never told me how; it's probably safer if I don't know.) They are the only people known—or, I should say, rumored—to still practice and teach traditional bending techniques. They were able to train me in secret, which I later learned is a major felony under Amon's administration.

But I didn't just want to learn how to keep a lid on my power. I also wanted to learn how to fight with it, how to do cool tricks with it. It was the only recreational thing I was interested in. It was my art, making frozen fractals and earthbending sculptures, dancing with fire. It was my physical activity, as the different forms taught me kinesthesia, how to control and challenge my body. I've always been like that, pushing against limits imposed on me. Only one thing keeps me in line: knowing that pushing against the limits imposed by the Equalists would endanger the people I love and the world I'm supposed to protect.

I heard snatches of conversations about the underground pro-bending circuit, from the White Lotus sentries and from strangers in the black flea market. I begged my parents to let me see a match, so I could watch and learn from other benders. Master Katara supported me, saying I needed to see bending in action in order to understand how to use it well.

Watching waterbenders, earthbenders, and firebenders fight each other made me fall even more in love with bending. It made me want to train harder and faster, to figure out how to use my abilities to their fullest extent. But even making progress frustrated me, because I knew I wouldn't be able to use whatever skills I developed, at least not for a long time. I couldn't even try pro-bending, because my parents and the White Lotus were afraid I'd accidentally bend an element besides water, and then my secret would be out.

When I was old enough—maybe seven or eight—my parents explained to me how the Bending Games work, and asked me if I would want to get my bending removed. I felt torn, because I loved bending, but I could see the fear with which they spoke of the Games. I was scared of the Equalists, because they would punish me for being a bender, and even more for being the Avatar; but, conversely, my fear made me want to hold on to my bending so I could defend myself and fight them.

"I don't know," I told them.

"Well, you don't have to decide until you're twelve," my father said. "That's the oldest you have to be before you can apply for equalization, and it's also the age when you'd qualify for the Games."

Sometimes I've thought that the Avatar Spirit should have been reincarnated in a different person, someone who lived far away from Republic City, someplace where he or she could gain a following to rise up against the Equalists without it being detected and crushed right away. That's always been the goal, or dream, in the back of my mind. The Avatar is supposed to keep balance, and the Equalists have upset that balance for almost two decades. No matter what propaganda they believe, true peace and freedom and equality are impossible under their regime.

Shortly before I turned twelve, I decided that it wouldn't make sense for me to voluntarily get rid of my bending. I tried to word it as logically as possible when I explained it to my parents and mentors: "If I keep it, there's a chance I'll be in the Games, which would end with me either losing my bending, or dying and being reincarnated. But if that doesn't happen, I could grow up to be a good Avatar and someday take down the Equalists. If I get my bending taken away, there'll be no chance of that ever happening. I mean, I guess I could try to lead an uprising, but people won't believe I'm the Avatar if I can't prove it."

Now I'll never be able to do that, because I'll either die or lose my bending.

Will I be able to use the other elements without making it obvious, either to the judges or to my opponents, that I'm the Avatar? The Equalists watch the footage so closely, someone would be bound to notice if I tried to sneak it in. It already happened once, and I was lucky that witness never told anyone. At least, I've always assumed he didn't, because no one came to arrest me afterwards.

It occurs to me that revealing my identity as the Avatar could disrupt the protocol of the games. It would catch them off guard, make them wonder whether to throw me in jail or make me go on with the show. It wouldn't be fair if the other participants had to fight someone with three or four elements, instead of just one like them. If they tried to pull me out, either before or during the games—what then? Would they simply replace me with another female tribute? It would ruin the suspense of the whole selection and preparation process. But then I'd either be killed, or equalized and probably imprisoned. And then they would choose another person to take my place in the Bending Games, so I wouldn't be saving anyone.

I find myself worrying about how I'd do if I were pitted against someone who had weapons or their element at a moment when I had neither. I'm sure I wouldn't go down easily; I'd kick and try to block or stun them with my bare hands. But if someone tried to stab or strangle me—I don't think I'd be able to restrain myself from unleashing flames in self-defense. Then they'd know the truth: I'm the person that Amon makes out to be a monster, or a channel for monsters to enter our world.

Even if I survive the Games, I'll have to meet Amon. Face to mask. And at his hands, I'll lose my bending forever. I wonder if he'll be able to tell that I can bend more than one element. Of course it won't matter then, because I'll be losing that ability. Perhaps that will convince him to let me live, not punishing me for being the Avatar.

I've always held on to that identity, because it makes me feel proud and strong and confident. Even though it's a secret, it's like the joke is on whoever I'm with, because I know something they don't, that I'm more powerful than they can ever guess.

But when I imagine myself being caught, facing Equalist guards or Amon himself, I imagine myself protesting. _I didn't ask for this power! I can't help it that I was born because the last Avatar died!_

If I don't win, the world will probably learn the truth about my identity. When an Avatar dies, there are signs that each nation's spiritual leaders watch for. If the Equalists figure out that those signs appeared at the exact moment of my death, they'll know that I was the Avatar. That might bring trouble on my parents—they would be asked whether they knew. Of course they would deny it, but Amon might not believe them.

Tributes are allowed to have visitors after they are chosen. The Equalists escort Mako and me into separate rooms furnished like parlors. They close the door on me, but they do not leave. They will be standing guard. From now on, we will always be watched.

The door creaks open, and an Equalist ushers my parents inside with the words, "Three minutes."

I stand up as they rush over to me. "Mom. Dad."

My mother has clearly been weeping, but she doesn't cry now, except for an occasional sniff or shiver. She hugs me first and holds me tightly; I try to match her strength but not overdo it, since I'm bigger and much stronger than her. She's so small, I feel like I have to protect her. Dad hugs us both, and I turn my head against his chest; the three of us breathe heavily against each other.

When we step back they still hold on to my hands and sit on either side of me on the couch. "Korra … I'm so sor—"

"Don't apologize," I tell her. "You have nothing to apologize for." I wonder if I should apologize, because I chose to keep my bending and now it is taking me away from her. But I don't know if I am sorry. I made the choice because I thought it was the best thing for the world. I'm not sorry for trying to do that.

"I'm not afraid," I say. I feel a little insulted when I see the skepticism in their eyes. They don't believe me. Or they think I _should_ be afraid, as if that will drive me to survival. But I don't believe that. I need to forget my fear and focus on survival instead.

"You don't know anything." They look at me in surprise, and I sort of glare at them, hoping they hear the serious warning behind my mask of anger. "You have _no idea_ what I'm capable of."

Then they understand. If I give myself away, or if the reincarnation is associated with my death, they must pretend that they didn't know I was the Avatar. If I slip up during the Games and give away my identity, I might even pretend I didn't know myself. Would they go easier on me if they thought I didn't know I'm the Avatar?

"Korra, listen to me." I turn to my father, who is looking at me with an expression of seriousness like I've never seen before. "You can't let your temper get the better of you. And you can't just depend on your physical power. The ones who win aren't just good at fighting their opponents; they're good at out-thinking them. They know when to stand their ground, and when to save their strength. Just promise me you won't try anything rash."

I hesitate, but then bow my head slightly. "Fine. I promise."

He touches my shoulder. "I'm proud of you. I never should have held you back."

" _You_ didn't." This regime is what held me back.

My father opens his arms, and as I hug him, I try to remember how his hugs felt when I was little, when I didn't know there was anything to be afraid of. I don't know if this is a feeling of safety, but it's still reassuring.

"Dad … Mom. I'll miss you," I say as we let go of each other. It's the truth, but it sounds hollow when I say it. I'm not great at expressing deep emotions, and I've never had to say a real farewell in my life.

My mother looks at me, overwhelmed. "We love you so much," she says.

"I love you, too." I hug her again and nestle my head on her shoulder, pretending for her sake that I'm small enough for her to take care of.

The Equalist guard opens the door again, but Mom still holds me tight. I don't want this to end with fighting and crying. "You have to go." I turn my head enough to look at my father. "Dad—take care of her."

He gently pries my mother's arms off of me, causing her to dissolve into sobs. "I will. Take care of yourself." He kisses my forehead quickly, then puts his arm around Mom and guides her out of the room.

I expect this to be the end. After all, I don't have any friends outside of the White Lotus, and they cannot let the Equalists know that they have any connection to me. But someone else comes in: Hiroshi Sato's daughter, Asami, a girl I barely know. I've seen her at pro-bending matches, and we may have spoken a few times, but I couldn't trust her or risk getting close to her, because she has such close ties to the Equalists. She's dressed in her finest, a gauzy red gown with a gold pin on her bodice and flower-shaped jewelry in her hair.

"Hey," she says, gentle but not evasive.

"Hey," I answer uncertainly.

"I have something for you. You're allowed to bring one thing from your nation, to remind you of home. Will you take this?" She pulls the gold pin off the front of her dress. "It was my mother's."

I look at her, bemused by this generosity, if that's what it is. "Are you serious? What … won't your father mind?"

"Yeah, maybe, but I think my mom would understand. Here." She comes right up and fastens the pin to the front of my shirt. For a second I think she's going to prick my breast, right where my heart is, but her fingers are careful, pulling up the fabric and fastening the pin securely. That done, she kisses my cheek and says, "Good luck." Then she leaves the room, not even needing the guards to dismiss her.

I'm left wondering if Asami has been my friend all along. She always acts gracious, but I perceived her as prissy, and assumed she was stuck-up. I feel guilty at the thought that I may have misjudged her. "Thank you," I say too late.

My next visitor is also unexpected: a strong, kind of stocky boy in green and brown clothes. Even if I didn't already know of him from the pro-bending matches, I would recognize him from the lottery just now. His name was chosen out of the boys' pool, but his brother stepped in and volunteered.

Bolin looks like someone who is lost but wants people to think they know where they are. For one crazy moment I want to give him a hug, just to give him some reassurance, but I know I'm not the right person to do that.

He seems nervous. "I can't stay long, I have to go see Mako, but …" He's just as clueless about why he came here as I am. But I can guess why he chose to see me first: he knows he'll break down when he sees Mako, and then he wouldn't be able to talk coherently to anyone, least of all one of Mako's rivals. That's what he and I are going to be, I remind myself.

Bolin looks exceedingly awkward. "If it's any … I don't know, consolation … I think you have a good chance of winning."

I fold my arms, almost hugging myself, barely able to look him in the eye. "Would you hate me, if I came back?"

This seems to be the wrong thing to say, because Bolin's face contorts, like he's trying his darnedest not to cry. He doesn't answer my question.

"I don't want to do this against your brother," I say.

Bolin wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, maybe stifling a sob. "I know … you don't have a choice."

But I probably will, in the arena. Mako and I are both competent fighters, capable of holding out for a while. Even if we avoid each other to the best of our abilities, at some point we will probably have to make choices involving each other.

I make my first choice now: "I won't kill your brother."

Bolin looks startled when I say this. I put it as bluntly as I could. We both know it's not in my favor to want this, much less to do it; but I don't want to kill that boy, and I don't want to be the one responsible for taking away this boy's brother. Mako is the only family Bolin has. If I can't win, Mako should. I can't promise that I'll save him, but I won't get in his way if he can save himself.

"Thank you," Bolin says, looking grateful—almost relieved, though that's a premature emotion to have right now. "I … appreciate that. And he will, too."

"He can't know, Bolin," I say. "I can't let anyone think I'm going soft, and I don't want Mako to let his guard down." Not even for me.

"Right. Okay." He hesitates. "I won't forget this … Korra of the Water Tribe."

Taking a cue from Asami, I put a hand on his shoulder and kiss his cheek. "Take care of yourself."

He looks kind of dazed. "Yeah … you too."

Once he leaves, I'm left alone again. No one else comes to see me, but I have to wait until Mako's visitation period is over.

I don't know what my parents would think of my promise to Bolin. Of course they want me to win and come home, but at what cost? Would they think this is the honorable thing to do? I'm not sure if I'm doing it for Bolin, or for Mako, or for myself. Will sparing his life make me a better person even if I have other people's blood on my hands?

I don't know which thought is the worst: the possibility of dying, or possibility of winning. I hate to think about what it would take to win, to be the last one standing. Hiding would not be enough. At some point I would have to take part in the violence.

It's a weird concept, violence. I guess its meaning depends on context and intensity. Sparring, I'm great at. Fighting, I'm fine with. Killing—well, I don't know how easy or hard that is. I don't know how much of a weight that would be on my conscience. I think I could easily kill someone who deserved to die, but my rivals will be children and teenagers.

The Avatar is supposed to protect life. Though different Avatars have held different standards of where to draw the line with violence, all of them worked to defend the innocent. What kind of Avatar would I be if I killed innocent people, or, if they weren't innocent, people forced to fight against their will?

At that moment, I come to a second decision.

I have two goals in this game. One is to stay alive. The other is to shame the Equalists for what they do to us and what they force us to do to each other.

Whatever happens—whether I achieve one, both, or none of these goals—I won't go down without a fight.


	4. Mako - Secrets

_Published June 3, 2017_

Mako: Secrets

* * *

It may be that we have lost our ability to hold a blazing coal, to move unfettered through time, to walk on water, because we have been taught that such things have to be earned; we should deserve them; we must be qualified. We are suspicious of grace. We are afraid of the very lavishness of the gift.

But a child rejoices in presents!

~ Madeleine L'Engle, _Walking on Water_

* * *

The Equalist guards send me into a parlor to wait for visitors. I feel like I'm recovering from a dizzy spell after a workout.

I think back to all the conversations Bolin and I had over the years, about the Bending Games. More than once, Bolin brought up the possibility of leaving civilization and living in the wilderness, in order to avoid being chosen in the lottery.

"We could do it, you know. Run away, live in the mountains. Ooh, ooh—I could earthbend our own tunnel system."

I always countered him with realism. "Even if we didn't freeze, we'd starve to death. Unless they found us first. Then they'd take our bending and work us to death. Or they'd kill us and call it a mercy killing."

"I'm not so sure. No one really counts on us being anywhere. No one would call the cops if we went missing. No one would be interrogated about where we might be—except maybe our landlord—"

"Or Toza," I point out. He was the one who mentored us and arranged our living situation. We owe him a lot more than we can ever repay; the least we can do is refrain from causing him trouble.

We argued about whether or not to put our names into the lottery in order to get more ration coupons. I insisted that if we ever gave in to that option, I would be the one to increase my odds of getting picked. At first Bolin seemed okay with this—at least, he didn't argue with it—but as more years passed while he was qualified, he started to act resentful about it whenever it came up. He argued that it was only fair for him to increase his chances as well. I refused to let him.

"You don't think I could do it, do you?" he asked me, sounding indignant.

"I think you could win, but … even if you did, you wouldn't be the same afterwards. It would destroy you inside."

"What about you?"

"I'm already a hardened cynic." I said it jokingly, but it was only a slight exaggeration. I'll admit, Bolin is the more likeable of the two of us. I'm more suspicious, less eager to make friends, whereas he acts like everyone's best friend.

Now I'm starting to wish we had left when we had the chance. Then we wouldn't be facing this situation.

I hear heavy footsteps in the hallway outside the door. I look up, trying to put on a calm face, just before the door opens. I expect Bolin to enter, but instead, the girl I saw earlier today enters.

"Asami?"

"Hey." Her greeting is gentle, almost casual. "Are you okay?"

"Um … depends on how you look at it."

"I know we're not best friends or anything, but I wanted to wish you good luck."

"Thanks." In the silence between us, a thought crosses my mind. "I don't suppose you're able to sponsor people, are you?"

Asami nods. "Oh, yes. We always sponsor our tributes, and any who seem like they need help."

Sponsoring the home team makes sense, but I have a hard time picturing the decision-making process for others. Everyone feels bad for the really young tributes, but where is the cutoff? None of them deserve to die, at least not initially.

Asami comes up close to me, then puts her arms around my neck. I feel awkward hugging her back. "Take care of yourself," she says. She kisses my cheek, smiles at me one last time, and then knocks on the door, so the guard knows to show her out.

I'm not what to make of this visit. It was fast. And unexpected. And … nice. I guess. Did Asami like me all along? I never thought much of her, except, well, that she's beautiful, and smart, and kind.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, groaning. Good grief, I'm an idiot.

Toza comes in next. His presence reminds me that I have more important things to be thinking about than girls. I actually manage a smile that's grateful if not happy. I guess Bolin's not the only friend I have after all. Toza has been a great mentor to us, and helped us both survive and maintain our honesty.

"You made the smart play," Toza tells me. "You'll be remembered for that, no matter what happens from now on."

"Thanks, Toza." I hesitate, but I have to ask: "You'll look out for Bolin, won't you?"

"'Course I will. You think I'd let him go hungry?"

"No; just … make sure he's holding himself up. I don't want him freeloading off of people, wearing out his welcome or anything."

Toza nods, understanding and agreeing.

"I never really thanked you, for helping us out."

"Don't mention it."

We sit in silence for a moment. Then he says, "That Korra—she's a fighter. You be careful about her, got it?"

"I got it."

He looks thoughtfully at the frosted glass window. "I think the United Republic might finally have a winner this year."

I'm pretty sure he does not mean me.

We don't really have anything else to say, but Toza stays until our allotted three minutes are up. He shakes my hand and claps me on the shoulder with a final, "Good luck."

Finally, inevitably, Bolin comes in. He all but throws himself at me, already crying. I hug him tightly, feeling tears come to my own eyes. I wish we'd hugged more often. That I'd told him the things siblings close in age don't usually say out loud. _I love you. I'm proud of you. You're my best and only friend. I'm glad you're my brother._

Bolin says something against my shoulder. "What?" I ask.

He lets go of me and blows his nose into his sleeve before repeating what he said. "It's my fault."

Great: irrational self-blame is already kicking in. "No, it's not—"

"I put my name in more times," Bolin blurts out.

I stare at him. "You _what_?"

He sits next to me on the couch, but he looks down at the carpet instead of at me. "I made the deals to get more food."

"After I told you not to?" I can't stop my voice from rising, both incredulous and angry. We talked about it lots of times. I always told him he was not to do that.

"Once in a while … on days when I wasn't able to sell anything … and when you were sick and couldn't work at the power plant … I knew you would've done the same for me, while you could, so I figured it was only fair … I never thought you'd … without knowing …" His words dissolve into sobs.

I guess there is no point in being angry now. I squeeze his shoulder and say, "It doesn't matter. I wouldn't have acted any differently if I'd known. That doesn't change anything. I couldn't watch and let you go through that."

He looks at me now, glaring. "And you think _I_ can watch _you_ do this?"

"You have to." For a moment we're both silent, trying to think of what to say in the short amount of time we have left together. "Did something happen, on your way here? I wondered when you didn't come right away."

Bolin folds his arms, looking guilty again, the way he would if he were caught doing something wrong. "I just went to see Korra. I'm sorry."

I look at him. "You don't have to apologize."

"Yeah, I do. I should've gone to you first. I could've asked."

I don't know why he thinks so—if it's out of respect for me as a brother, or the authority I've had as the elder sibling. I don't like thinking of myself as a surrogate parent. Even Bolin has admitted that he likes me better as a brother than as a dad.

I can't remember a time when I was away from my brother for more than a few hours. We've never spent a night apart. And now we're being separated, probably forever.

I take a deep breath, getting ready to play the parent one last time. "Listen, Bo. Don't do anything for the Triads—it's not worth getting caught and punished. And don't take any extra rations, from now on. If anyone helps you, find a way to pay them back. Stay out of trouble … don't get carried away with your fangirls … and remember to feed Pabu." That's all the instruction I can think of. I know a real parent would have some more insightful or universal advice, but those are all I can remember reminding Bolin to do in the past.

Bolin's expression is dark, listening to me. I can't tell if it's anger—that's an unusual emotion for Bolin. Finally he nods, not taking his eyes off me, and then raises a finger at me and gives an admonition of his own. "Just promise me one thing. Try to win."

I'm not really surprised to hear him say this. Bolin was the one who really believed in our team's chances of success at Pro-Bending. I have perseverance, but Bolin has something else—faith, I guess, or hope.

Hope. That's supposed to be one of the themes of the Games, the idea that hope can help a tribute become a victor. But hope alone isn't enough; a hundred other factors—endurance, determination, and sometimes sheer luck—determine the difference between victory and death.

Of course there is a statistical chance that I could win. I've just never really thought about it. But the way Bolin is looking at me, I realize that I'll have to try, _really_ try, to stay alive to the end. That will mean fighting as well as surviving. I don't point out that I'll probably have to kill people in order to come home to him.

"I will try," I tell him. "I promise."

He nods, as though gauging my sincerity, though usually he's quick to trust people. "I'm counting on that." He fingers the end of Dad's scarf, and then pauses, looking down at it, before unwrapping it. "Take this with you."

"That's okay—"

"That's an order," he says, trying to act stern. He forces the scarf into my hand and points at it. "That's the one thing they're not allowed to take from you. So guard it with your life."

His words sound ridiculous in these circumstances. But maybe it's not just the scarf; maybe he means what it represents: the memory of our family, the promise of warmth and safety. We shared it when nights were cold, and made each other wear it when one of us fell sick.

If we had more time, I'd try to get us both to remember all the good times we've had—with each other, with our parents—memories we need to hold on to. But an Equalist guard knocks on the door, signaling we have less than a minute to say goodbye.

"We'll be okay," I tell Bolin. "I know it." He nods, and I offer him my hand, pulling him into a hug again. "I love you, little bro."

"Love you back, big bro."

We're still hugging when the guard comes to escort Bolin out. I try to smile at him, but he doesn't smile back; there's too much fear in his eyes. That's my last glimpse of him before the door separates us. "Goodbye," I whisper; I couldn't say it in front of him, because I know he doesn't want to have to say it to me. There's something too final about saying goodbye. If Bolin wants to hold on to hope, I won't be the one to diminish it.

Surprisingly, my visitors don't end with Bolin. Next comes a huge Water Tribe man—the one I took to be Korra's father. It's weird that the Bending Games are causing our families to mingle this way. He doesn't look as though he's been crying. He looks sad, and tired too. I feel the same way, except that he has nothing left that he can do, while I have to do everything I'm capable of doing.

"We've never really met," he says, sitting on the couch across from me. "I'm Tonraq. Korra's father." His voice is surprisingly soft on those last words—not just low volume soft, but gentle, tender soft.

I nod, not sure what to say, because he already heard my name and knows who I am.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Tonraq says.

"I'm sorry too," I say slowly, looking at him with uncertainty. "For you, and Korra, I mean."

Tonraq nods in acceptance. He glances a the frosted windows, which barely let in any sunlight. We can faintly hear those who have remained in the crowd, waiting for the moment when the tributes will leave.

He speaks up suddenly. "I'll keep an eye on your brother. Make sure he's eating."

I feel almost embarrassed, but more grateful than anything. I try to smile. "Thanks. That means a lot, to both of us."

Tonraq gives me a sorry look. "Take care of yourself, Mako." Then he stands up and leaves. I'm almost sorry to see him go. I wouldn't have minded some advice from a parent, even if it's not my parent. But I know Tonraq even less than I know his daughter, and I don't know her well at all.

And yet, I know more about her than most people.

Thinking about her only increases my anxiety; my headache is threatening to **overwhelm** /dull my focus. I don't want to think about having to interact with Korra these next several days, or weeks.

But I can't stop myself from remembering our first interaction (if you can call it that), the one that's stood out in my memory for so long. It's the only secret I've ever deliberately kept.

It was a few weeks after our parents died. Those first weeks were the hardest, when we were mourning our parents and trying to find our way on our own. We couldn't find a permanent place to stay, but most nights we slept in alleys. Bolin could earthbend a lean-to structure, which could hide us even if it couldn't keep us warm. I was reluctant to firebend, but at Bolin's request I conjured small fires to keep us from getting frostbite.

We figured once the weather warmed up, it would be easier for us, not having to worry about freezing to death. But in the meantime we had another problem to face: hunger. We tried begging, but hardly anyone even spared us a glance. Too many street kids were known to beg and then have a friend pick their benefactor's pocket.

One day we were hanging out in the park. Bolin went off looking for a place to relieve himself. Even though there was almost no one in the park, he didn't want to do it out in the open. I by the pond, and thought about trying to catch one of the fish. I wouldn't know how to prepare it, but I could probably cook it with firebending.

I decided to walk around to stay warm. That was how I came across a small girl and a large animal. I recognized the girl from school. I knew her name was Korra, and that she was a waterbender, and that she had a tame polar-bear dog. That was pretty much all I knew about her. I didn't see her out as often as other kids. She must have been taking her pet out for exercise. Now, though, she was taking a pack off of the animal's back. She sat in the snow and started taking out containers of food.

I ducked behind some public garbage cans and watched her eat, feeling unspeakably jealous. Not just in the way kids envy one another, but in the way adults feel when they see something they think they _must_ have. This girl was rich compared me. There she was, enjoying a private, homemade picnic lunch, while I was scrounging in trash recepticles for scraps of mass-produced food. I felt torn between maintaining my pride as a provider, and begging her for food to bring back to Bolin.

One of the containers Korra took out was a thermos. She unscrewed it, took a sip, and made a face. I didn't know if it was a bad flavor, or if it had gone cold, or was still too hot. She cupped her hands around it and held it up to her mouth, as though gulping it down, or breathing on it to cool it. But I saw her hands glow, the way mine sometimes did when I warmed them with firebending through my mouth and hands. And a moment later, she took another sip, smiled in satisfaction, and lowered her cup. I could see steam rising from the heated beverage.

It took me a few seconds to realize that I had just seen a waterbender use firebending, and how that could be possible. As far as I knew, Korra's heritage was pure Water Tribe, and even people with mixed racial backgrounds could never bend more than one element. Only the Avatar could do that.

My hand slipped as I tried to lean forward to see better. I lost my balance and stumbled behind the trash cans, causing a metallic racket. Korra was startled, and spilled some of her tea, which stained the snow green before causing it to melt. She stepped through the snow to where I lay, sprawled on my hands and feet.

Now, I felt afraid. What if she tried firebending at me? If she _was_ the Avatar, she might be able to take me in a fight. But she looked almost as scared as I did.

"What are you doing?"

I clumsily got to my feet. "Nothing—I was just—looking—for food—"

Then she really looked at me. I can only guess what my physical state was at the time. I know I hadn't washed properly for weeks, and I hadn't eaten much since then. Her suspicion didn't disappear, but there was something else in her expression too, something soft that I couldn't name. "You hungry?"

I nodded, too scared and tired to be anything but truthful.

Korra glanced back at her polar-bear dog and the picnic basket she'd dropped. As I stood rooted to the ground, she went back to her spot, picked up the remains of her lunch, and carried the basket over to me. "Look." She held it out to me, with the lid open so I could see its contents. There were custard tarts, dried fruits, raw vegetables, sweet rolls, rice balls, and dumplings. There were even napkins and spark rocks and a set of chopsticks. To me, it was a feast.

"Take it. Just don't tell anyone." She pushed it into my arms, and I fumbled to get a secure hold on it. She all but slammed the lid closed, then continued to hold on to it and leaned in toward me, her expression so intense I thought she might be angry. "You never saw me today. Got it?"

I nodded. With nothing else to say, she roused the polar-bear dog to its feet, climbed up on the saddle, and rode her away. I stood staring dumbly for a minute, still processing what had happened, but then I remembered Bolin would be looking for me where he had left me. I carried the basket like a treasure chest, afraid of dropping it or having it stolen. When Bolin found me, I told him I wouldn't open it until we were in a private place, so we found an alley and he bent up a few walls to shelter us from onlookers.

I'll never forget Bolin's look of awe, incredulity, and ecstasy when we opened the basket. "Whoa! Jackpot!" He wasted no time stuffing his mouth, and only stopped chewing long enough to ask in awe, "Where'd you get all this?"

Some part of me wanted to say, _A friend_. But that wasn't technically true; she was a stranger. So instead I said, "Someone gave it to me. I didn't even ask for anything."

Bolin didn't care much about the explanation; he was already busy stuffing his face. I slowed him down, and figured out how to ration the food. We split the dumplings right away, since they were warm and would spoil sooner than the rest of the food. We each had a rice ball and two pieces of dried moon peaches. We saved the rest of the food to eat for later meals. The thermos turned out to be filled with tea; we passed it back and forth to wash the food down our dry throats. The basket itself gave us a sense of ownership, of being able to accumulate possessions, since we could use it to carry and store things.

I only let myself think hard about my interaction with Korra after Bolin and I had gone to sleep for the night. I replayed the whole episode over and over again in my mind. I had seen steam rise from the cup, and it melted the snow when she spilled it. But maybe all the stress and fatigue had been getting to me. It might have even been a trick of the light in the winter sky, reflecting off the snow and clouds. Maybe I just imagined that I saw her firebending. But Korra's nervousness made me even more certain that I had seen her bend an element other than water.

 _"Don't tell anyone."_ Had she meant about the food, or about the bending? Maybe both. Maybe she was giving me the chance to pretend I really hadn't seen anything, that our secret was no more than a gift of food.

At one point, it occurred to me that I might be rewarded for turning her in. Or maybe I could set conditions before telling the Equalists who the Avatar was. Maybe they would feed us, or set us up with a real home, or exempt us from the Bending Games. But then again, my evidence was pretty flimsy, and if it turned out I was wrong, they might punish me.

I never told anyone, not even Bolin. I didn't want to speak it aloud, and risk someone overhearing and turning in not only Korra for being the Avatar, but also me for not reporting it. I felt responsible for her secret.

In the ten years that have passed, I've only ever caught glimpses of Korra, mostly in the underground arena. She came to watch a lot of pro-bending matches, including my own when Bolin and I started. But she never approached us, and never stayed long enough for either of us to approach her (Bolin wanted to greet her along with our other "fangirls"). Sometimes she caught me studying her, or I noticed her watching me. Sometimes we simply looked away, keeping a blank expression; other times we conveyed and received mutual distrust or annoyance. I could tell I set her off, made her wary. She seemed just as suspicious of me as I was of her.

I never felt ashamed of accepting the food. It wasn't begged or stolen. I hadn't asked for it; it had been a gift. I still don't know whether Korra gave it out of charity, or as a bribe to keep me quiet. It didn't matter to me at the time; food was food, which Bolin and I desperately needed. Whatever her intentions were, the fact is we're alive because of her. And I'm not sure what that means for us now, when she and I are about to compete against each other in a fight to the death. Should I cut her a break, to return the favor (if that's what it was)? If she really is the Avatar, she might be harder to beat than anyone else, so I ought to give it my all if I want to make it back to Bolin. But then … what will that mean for the world, if the Avatar dies so young in this incarnation?

The guards escort us to a limousine that will take us to Central City Station. Korra glances at me only briefly as we go around the opposite sides of the vehicle. We sit in the same row, with an empty seat between us. Tenzin, Tarrlok, and Varrick sit in the row in front of us. Zhu Li sits in the driver's seat.

Korra is the first of us to break the silence between us—the first time she has spoken to me in a decade. "You'll probably hear this a lot, in the next few days, but … that was really brave, what you did back there."

I don't know how to respond to that. Somehow "Thank you" doesn't seem quite appropriate. I wonder if Korra would have done the same thing, if she had a sibling. She was kind enough to give food to a starving stranger, but that didn't require much sacrifice on her part. Does she have what it takes to risk her life for another person, even someone she loves?

I promised Bolin I would try to win. I mean to keep that promise. But Korra is a wild pai sho tile: I have no idea how she'll impact my game plan, or how I should respond when she inevitably does.


End file.
